


Lingua Franca

by molo (esteefee)



Series: Latin is for Lovers [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: April Showers Challenge, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-05
Updated: 2006-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one is all moon's fault. Just a quick simultanequel to Lapsus Linguae, because dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lingua Franca

* * *

  
_lingua franca_ n. common tongue; any language used as a means of  
communication among speakers of other languages.  
©2006 From the _Hutchinson Encyclopaedia_.  


* * *

Starsky was dreaming. The arroomellephs were after him again, squealing in their alien language, making those soggy, squelchy sounds they always did as they crept so slowly up the stairs. They wanted to eat him.

He knew his gun would be useless against their black, shapeless bodies. Fortunately, his apartment had expanded somehow, with a big deck in back that he ran to in slow motion. Hutch's plants were there, and they'd grown huge, blanketing him easily. He backed into their green embrace and waited.

He felt something grab his leg, shaking it. He yelled.

 _In the car. I'm in Hutch's car. With Hutch._ That was good. That was much better than the arroomellephs, always with their gaping black mouths... Starsky shivered and climbed over the seat to be with Hutch, deliberately sticking his ass in his partner's face on the way.

He wasn't disappointed. Hutch put his hand on one cheek, shoving it, and Starsky relished the heat that lingered on his butt afterward as he settled into the passenger seat.

He realized they were outside their usual post-stakeout diner, and he wondered why Hutch hadn't woken him up earlier to do his part, especially since Hutch was looking so worn around the edges these days.

"How come you didn't get me up for my piece?" Starsky asked, but Hutch just shrugged that stupid little shrug of his, the one that said 'I don't want to tell you what the problem is because then you might make it better, and where would I be if I didn't have something pointless to worry about?'

It made no sense. But then again, the Blintz never did make a lot of sense. Not to anyone but Starsky.

The burgers came, and Hutch took a huge bite out of his disgusting tuna thing, eating as if it were going out of style. He got a bit of schmutzig on his cheek and Starsky couldn't resist wiping it off with his fingertips, even though Hutch looked a little shocked when he did it.

 _Great, now I'm acting like his momma. **Oh shit**! Momma!_ Starsky had completely forgotten to mail her his monthly check. He felt it burning a hole in his pocket, and could practically hear her acidly patient, 'It's all right, sweet boy. I'll make do somehow.' Which of course really meant 'Don't mind me, I'll just sit here in the dark and starve. Without heat, even.'

Frantic, he started babbling about it to Hutch.

"It's okay—" Hutch said, but that just made Starsky more pissed at himself.

"It's not! I fucked up—"

"What I meant was we can _wire_ the money to her."

Starsky was hugely relieved. She really _did_ need the help this month. He smiled gratefully at Hutch, feeling his affection for his partner hit him like a bomb. _Blitzed by the the Blintz,_ he thought. He started to try to put words to it, thinking he could maybe say it out loud for once.

But Hutch avoided his eyes. He always did that, like he couldn't stand even a little gratitude. It was part of what made him so damned impossible. And so damned lovable.

Starsky tried to put his mind and his mouth back on track. "Jesus, every month it's the same thing, I always forget until it's too late. You should just kiss me next time."

He heard his own words a second later, and felt his ears start to burn. _Oh God, oh, please he didn't notice my slip._

But Hutch had. His voice sounded funny as he repeated, "I should what?"

Starsky's face felt totally slack, like rubber. Like an arroomelleph's, actually. "You should k-kick me."

He thought Hutch would just make a smart remark, something pretty cutting, since he deserved it. But instead he felt Hutch's eyes like lasers, boring into him. Almost as if he could sense the truth.

"I think you said 'kiss'," Hutch said.

The sweat prickled up hot on Starsky's face.

"Did I?" _Oh, ten points for cool, tiger._

He couldn't look at Hutch, who had leaned forward—just a little bit, but it felt as if he were looming right over him.

"Well, which was it?" Hutch said, "Kick...or kiss?" His voice was so dark and sexy and rough that Starsky felt it rub through him all the way down to his feet.

But Hutch was just funning him. He had to be. No way could the big blond Viking, plunderer of a thousand ditzy women, really want to kiss him. Hutch was just yanking Starsky's chain, just like they always did, back and forth.

"Hutch..." Starsky said, begging for mercy this once, not up to the game.

Hutch backed off. The silence seemed to go on for about a year, and then Hutch said lamely, "Some slip of the tongue, huh?"

And he sounded disappointed. Completely. As if someone had just popped his big red balloon. As if _Starsky_ had.

Like in a dream, Starsky reached up and turned off the light. Suddenly he could hear them both breathing a little too quickly, and he felt his heart wham like an engine catching into gear. It drove him across the seat, the hot bag of fries mashing under his left thigh. He saw the shadowed movement as Hutch turned his head.

Starsky said something then, he could never remember it later, but it was right before he found Hutch's mouth, zeroing in on those lips as if they had a homing beacon and only he knew the signal.

 _Mmmm. Tuna._

 __

 _Fin._

July 2006  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
